The Buy More of the Bloodcurdling II
by atlee
Summary: Just when you thought it was safe to come back to the internet - another trio of terrifying tales guaranteed* to scare every last wit you have. * Guarantee void in everywhere other than Denmark, Uruguay and four counties in southeast Vermont.
1. Introduction

**The Buy More of the Bloodcurdling II**

**Introduction**

Chuck felt a brief rush of panic when he reached over to find nothing but empty sheets at the other side of the bed. He had, after all, just gotten her back. He rubbed his eyes, pushed himself to his feet, and headed into the hallway.

He sighed in relief when he heard the faint tapping of keys coming from the kitchen. He found Sarah seated by her laptop, a swirl of discarded paper surrounding her.

"Honey, I know you just got your memories back," Chuck said, putting a hand on her shoulder, "but you don't need to write them all down. They promised you're not going to lose them again."

He reached over to pick up one of the pieces of paper lying on the counter. After reading a few sentences, renewed fear crept over him. "Um Sarah, this isn't the way things actually happened. There _was_ a Ring that we had to get rid of, and they were evil, but they were people, not an actual ring. Maybe we should call the doctors and tell them your memories aren't coming back quite right."

Sarah looked at her husband in amusement. "Relax, Chuck. I'm not writing down memories. They're stories."

"Stories?"

"Sure, I thought I might try some creative writing, now that I'm out of the spy business."

Chuck read a few more sentences on the page he was holding. "So, you mean like fan fiction?"

"Well, sort of, except I'm using us instead of fictional characters somebody else created. That way there's no danger of anyone suing me."

"I don't know," Chuck said after he'd finished reading the page. "Casey may want to take legal action over being portrayed as an elf."

"Oh, Casey's too much fine to write about. I couldn't turn down the opportunity. All of us are, really."

"Even Lester and Jeff?"

"Please, I want people to read these." Sarah took the piece of paper from Chuck's hand. "Casey can rest easy, anyway. I gave up on this one, since it wasn't scary enough. But I should have three done shortly - much spookier stuff. You can read them when I'm done."

"Three stories? Like an anthology? Like they do on 'The Simp…'"

"Shhh," Sarah interrupted. "Remember what I said about getting sued? Now, go back to bed and let me finish. I've got important writing to finish."

* * *

_Yup, I'm back, just in time to bring you Round II of the scariest stories you'll ever read. The first part will be up tomorrow, which will give you dear readers just enough time to renew prescriptions of heart medication, say goodbye to loved ones, and stock up on clean underwear._

_As always, I do not own "Chuck" or any other characters that might pop up in any of these stories, living dead...or undead._

_Bwaahaahaa!_


	2. The Grimes Dog Macguffin

**The Grimes Dog Macguffin**

"See now, you just don't get this in Chicago. The stillness of the air, the peace and quiet, being able to be outside at night without finding icicles in…unfortunate places."

Chuck didn't mention that they'd had to drive for an hour-and-a-half to find that still air and absence of city noises. Nor did he share his brother-in-law's enthusiasm for their surroundings. To him, the great outdoors would be a lot greater with climate control and more wireless hotspots. As far as he was concerned, the sooner he could get back home and into a nice warm bed, complete with a nice warm wife, the better.

"Maybe we should focus on the task at hand before you break out the s'mores, Devon."

"Don't worry, Chuckster. I've got my eyes on the prize. As much as you can call Morgan a prize." Devon's flashlight wavered as he stopped to look at Chuck. "What exactly did he say in that voicemail anyway?"

Morgan had never been known for his coherence, Chuck had to admit. The message he'd left this evening had been confusing even by his standard, though. "Pretty much that he was stranded out in the woods and we needed to pick him up."

"He didn't say what he was doing out here?"

Chuck shook his head, a gesture that was probably pointless in the late-evening darkness. He'd had to admit the vagueness of the message had been odd. Morgan had always been an over-sharer. Perhaps, Chuck thought, the newfound sense of privacy was another after-effect of Morgan's brief time as the Intersect.

Chuck glanced at the tracker he was carrying. "He's pretty close," he remarked. Another after-effect of Morgan's brief time as the Intersect was the instillation of a state-of-the-art GPS chip in his phone, so Chuck could always keep track of him, in case he was in trouble. Or had gone off the deep end again. "We'd better hurry up and find him. I'm starting to get cold."

"Ah, this is nothing, Dude. This is practically summer in Chicago."

Despite his earlier wistfulness, Devon clearly loved Chicago. Chuck's sister and brother-in-law had only lived in the Windy City for eight months, but one could easily believe that they were lifelong residents based on how often Devon talked about his new home. Most of this visit had been sent listening to stories about the Bears, Marshall Fields and runs along the lakefront. Chuck couldn't help but wonder whether Sarah's strategically-timed Girls Night Out was a way to escape the repetitive stories.

Still, he supposed he should be thankful. Having his outdoorsy brother-in-law available for this particular mission was lucky. Devon should be much better at finding his way around the woods, and the giant "emergency backpack" he'd been carrying around had already provided them with a flashlight, compass, insect repellant, and about a week's supply of granola bars. The baby wipes, football, and unauthorized biography of Jack JaLanne hadn't found their use yet, but it was still early.

"At least there's a full moon out tonight, so we can say where we're going," Chuck commented.

"Good point, Chuck. Still, it does look like the annual Southern California cloud chose tonight to show up," Devon pointed upwards, and Chuck could see one grayish blob in the sky, inching close to the glowing moon.

"Still, I'd happily trade in this quiet you're so thrilled about for some of your Chicago noise. It's getting spooky out there."

As if on cue, a howling sound broke through the night air.

"Uh, what was that?"

"A coyote, probably." The look on Devon's face was a lot less calm than his words.

"Well, we'd better find Morgan soon. He's never been much of a dog person." He checked the tracker again. "He shouldn't be far."

They continued in silence, uninterrupted by howling, baying, or any other uncomfortably demonic sounds. They kept their conversation to a minimum, with only occasional granola and water breaks. Chuck was beginning to wonder if s'mores would make a welcome snack alternative when the howling began again, only to quickly disappear.

"Are you sure that's a coyote?"

"Well, I have no idea what that was. But at the moment what I hear sounds more like…whistling."

Chuck squinted, and could just make out the sound, too. As he concentrated, he thought he could even make out a melody.

"Morgan?" Devon whispered after a moment.

"Don't think so," Chuck whispered back. "He can't carry a tune. But I'm pretty sure that's…CCR?"

Suddenly the whistling stopped. Before Chuck could react, he felt cold metal on his neck. "Ok, not good."

* * *

"Bartowski?"

Chuck slowly turned around. The first thing he noticed was the red glow of a cigar. Raising his eyes a bit higher, he saw the scowling face of John Casey.

"What the hell are you two doing here? You on the case too?"

Chuck was thrown by the second question, and didn't answer the first. "What case?"

"You know." Casey leaned in. "The lycanthrope."

Chuck was fully occupied with coughing away the cigar smoke, so Devon asked the logical question. "A lycan-what?"

Casey puffed derisively on his stogie. "What do they teach in medical school these days, anyway? Lycanthrope, as in werewolf."

"Oh come on, Casey. There's no such thing as a werewolf."

"Really?" Casey snorted. "And I suppose you spent three months undercover in a gypsy camp in Romania, huh, so can claim to be an expert on this. No wait, that was me. Trust me, it's a thing."

"But what makes you think there's a werewolf out there?" Devon asked. "Is there some message board for monsters?"

Casey ignored the second question, and answered the first. "You mean, besides the constant howling? Surely, you two geniuses couldn't have missed that. Besides, there've been stories in the news about cattle mutilations in the area." Casey removed the cigar from his mouth and studied in his hand. "About time, too. Sure beats chasing after arms dealers, gun-runners and…whatever the hell the Ring was supposed to be."

The Colonel popped the cigar back in his mouth. "And from the sounds of the thing, it's a nasty one too. Not some Castanthrope like the one I hunted down in Argentina 15 years ago."

"Castanthrope?"

"A…werebeaver?" Seeing Chuck's surprise, Devon explained, "Been teaching Clara all the classic languages…just started in on Greek last month."

"Doc's right," Casey said. "All sorts out there. Werepanthers, Wereoxen. We even had one case of Porcanthropy a few years back. Poor bastard got taken to the slaughterhouse before we could get to him. He made a hell of a sandwich though."

Chuck waited for Casey to betray some hint that he was kidding. When the silence had stretched past the point of awkwardness, he asked, "So if you really are hunting and killing…werewolves, wouldn't you have some sort of trophies or something? Heads mounted on your living room wall?"

Casey rolled his eyes. "Of course not. Lycanthropes switch back from mutt to human when they're killed. Mounting their heads would be tacky."

"Ok, fine." Chuck was starting to get a headache. "So how are you going to catch this werewolf?"

Casey pointed down at the ground. Two raw steaks lay near his feet. Right above, Chuck could just make out a rope descending to the ground, tied into a wide loop surrounding the raw meat. "A trap?"

Casey grunted, and reached down towards the holster around his hip. The gun he removed was one that that Chuck didn't recognize – though it would be hard to keep track of the older man's vast collection of firearms. More notable was the gleaming bullet that dropped out of the gun's chamber.

"Silver? They actually sell silver bullets?"

Casey shook his head. "Had to make it myself. Managed to snatch a few silver medals from the 1980 Soviet hockey team and melted them down." Casey smirked. "Nothing like the sting of Commie humiliation to add that extra something to a kill shot. So, you going to answer my question?"

Chuck gave his brother-in-law a warning glance. As much as it seemed like Casey had taken one too many blows to the head, Morgan's message had been suspicious. Could it be possible that he was a werewolf? If so, it could hardly be his fault, and he didn't deserve a bullet for it, silver or not. He knew that Devon wasn't a particularly good liar, so he figured if anyone was going to cover for Morgan, it had better be him. "Oh, Devon's showing me what he loves about camping. We were just talking about how beautiful it is out here, weren't we?"

"Uh yeah," Devon said, slowly taking the hint. "Lovely night."

Casey's eyes were narrowed. "Really? Where's your tent?"

Devon stood there frozen for a second, before removing his backpack and dropping it to the ground. "I've got one somewhere." Casey and Chuck watched while he removed a toy rattle, a pair of gym shorts, several back issues of People Magazine, and what appeared to be a pan flute. But no tent could be found.

"Uh," Devon stumbled, "we like to go old school. Feed off the wild. You know."

"No kidding." Casey looked at Devon like a hawk eyeing its prey. He leaned in and exhaled a puff of cigar smoke in the doctor's face. "Roughing it. You convinced Bartowski to go out to the woods in the middle of the night, without anything to sleep in to what, look at the stars?"

"Um, yup."

"I suppose Grimes was too busy to join you."

"Well," Devon added, "he was busy. Out on the town with Alex."

"Don't think so," Casey pounced. "Alex is having dinner with her mother. Just the two of them. You think I don't keep in touch with my own daughter?" He looked back and forth at the two of them. "You're covering for Grimes. " He stared past them out at the woods for a moment, before ending the quiet with a satisfied grunt. "Might've known."

"Known what?" Chuck looked at his friend uneasily.

"Grimes. He's gone wolf." Seeing the doubt in Chuck's expression, he pressed forward. "Makes total sense."

"Exactly what out of everything you've said makes total sense?"

"It's historical fact. The hairiest people have always been the most susceptible to lycanthropy. Ivan the Terrible, Martin Van Buren, Robin Williams. Grimes fits the pattern." He dropped the silver bullet back in his gun. "Now I know what to aim for."

"You aren't seriously going to shoot Morgan, just because you think he's a werewolf?" Devon asked incredulously.

"Well there's also the whole 'dating my daughter' part. But that's really just icing on the cake."

"Right." Chuck took an involuntary step away from the madness. "Well I guess it's just too bad that Morgan isn't here. And isn't a werewolf. I think Devon and I will go back to our camping, so you can go back to acting crazy."

"Suit yourself," Casey said. "Just don't come complaining to me when your little buddy starts munching on your spleen."

* * *

"He really needs a hobby," Chuck commented to Devon when they had left the Colonel whistling to himself back at the clearing.

"You don't actually believe he was right about Morgan, do you? I mean, he's a good kid but he's always seemed a bit twitchy."

"Seriously, Devon?" Chuck looked at his brother-in-law. "You're a doctor. Are you telling me that you really believe in werewolves?"

"Hey, I never would have believed that you could stick computers in people's noggins a few years ago. My capacity for believing in the ridiculous has increased."

"We should probably hurry up and find Morgan then, so everyone can return to sanity."

They moved as stealthily through the forest as they could. Devon kept the flashlight pointing straight ahead, but the wildest beast they encountered was a single, frightened rabbit.

A few minutes after leaving Casey, Chuck's tracker indicated that they'd caught up to Morgan. Chuck whispered his name, but didn't get an answer. He gave Devon an uncertain look, then cautiously pushed his way into the bushes.

"You find him?" Devon asked.

"Uh, no," Chuck replied, kneeling down to examine the bundle on the ground. "Found his phone. And…his clothes."

"Oh. So…maybe he found a lake to swim in?"

"I don't think so," Chuck answered as he returned. "The clothes are all torn up."

"So, maybe he was in a hurry to go swimming. Or…had some cows to mutilate."

"C'mon. We've got to keep going."

They continued to walk through the forest. Between the darkness and the lack of a tracker, Chuck felt like they were walking blindly. He could barely see Devon, but he could tell from his movement that the other man was slightly freaked out. The longer they moved through the darkness, the greater Chuck's own uneasiness took over. He knew there was nothing to worry about. At worst there was a stray wolf out there somewhere. But he had faced off psychotic Russian terrorists, so one stray animal should be no problem.

Still, his words served little comfort, and he jumped nearly as high as his brother-in-law when the flashlight's beam bounced off something that was not forest undergrowth. Chuck looked over to see Devon staring at him expectantly. "What?" he asked.

"Aren't you going to go check it out?"

"Why me?"

"You're the Secret Agent."

"Well, you're the allegedly awesome one! Fine," he sighed. He slowly inched towards the pale object on the ground. Reaching onto the ground he grabbed a stick. He waved it around, but its flimsiness didn't give him much comfort.

Finally, he came close enough to get a better glimpse of what was lying there. It was a body, a Morgan-sized one, lying face down. His back was covered with scratches, but the rest of him, all of the rest of him, wasn't covered with anything.

"Wow, it looks like we've got two full moons out tonight."

Chuck gave his brother-in-law a hard look. "Really?"

"Sometimes things have to be said, no matter how obvious they are."

"Well, at the risk of being even more obvious, why don't you help me get him up. In case you haven't noticed, he's not a wolf."

"You sure?"

"Trust me, the back hair is normal." Chuck and Devon grabbed the unconscious Morgan and slowly turned him around, both carefully looking the other way. When they were done, Chuck looked at Devon expectantly. "Aren't you going to examine him?"

"Why me?"

"You're the doctor."

"Fine." Chuck found a nearby tree to study carefully while the examination took place. "Ok, he's just knocked out," he finally heard the doctor say. "He should be coming to any moment."

Sure enough, it was only a few seconds later when Chuck heard his bearded friend say, "Guys? Where am I?"

"Um, you're in the middle of the forest. Any more details you're going to have to share with us."

"Oh." After a pause, "You guys didn't happen to see my clothes anywhere, did you?"

"I'm afraid they're not going to be of much use anymore. We did manage to find your phone, though." Chuck reached over to give Morgan his cell phone, his eyes firmly fixated on the nearby shrubbery.

"Here," Devon said, after rummaging through his backpack. "I've got an old Spin Doctors t-shirt you can use. I usually use it to absorb any dripping when I change the oil in the Jeep, but it's something, and it should be big enough to provide sufficient…coverage."

"Thanks." Morgan snatched away the shirt and a moment later Chuck was able to look at his friend again. The bearded man's eyes were slightly wild, and Chuck found himself questioning whether Casey had been right in his theory. Torn clothes, all alone in the woods, scratches all over. It did kind of add up, even if it was based on some weird form of math that Stanford never taught.

"We'd better head back to the car." When Devon moved to follow the path they'd taken to find Morgan, Chuck nudged him and whispered, "Not that way. Casey."

"Wait!" Morgan interrupted. "Casey's here?" His eyes looked even wilder.

"He's….uh, camping. And he's asleep, so we don't want to wake him." Morgan didn't look convinced, but he followed them without further question.

They moved as quickly as they could through the underbrush. The darkness hid many obstacles that Devon's flashlight could only partially reveal, meaning they frequently found themselves tangled in various branches and other undergrowth. To make matters worse, the plant-life was only part of the problem. As happy as Chuck was to not be eaten by a werewolf, he wasn't sure becoming bug food was any better.

Chuck didn't immediately notice when his vision finally began to become clearer. He looked up to see that the moon was slowly inching out from behind the cloud in the sky. He looked back at Morgan, who was also looking back at the sky, his eyes troubled. "Why don't I scout ahead, and see if I can find a better path," the bearded man offered.

"Don't you need the flashlight?" Devon asked, but Morgan had already disappeared into the trees.

Chuck gave the other man a concerned look. "I'm sure he's just trying to be helpful."

"Yeah, sure. I'm sure he just went to fetch…" Devon shook his head. "You know, Morgan's not a big guy. Maybe he's just, like a terrier or a poodle or a..."

A loud howling echoed through the trees, stopping the two men in their tracks.

"Ok, that's one really loud poodle. "

Before Chuck could reply, there was a loud crashing, and something black and very large knocked Devon off his feet. Before Chuck's natural instincts could kick in, the Intersect took over. He leapt for the beast, and attacked.

Unfortunately, the Intersect clearly hadn't been built with werewolves in mind. Kung fu might be an effective approach when fighting six-foot-five assassins from Bulgaria, but it's much harder to knock over something standing on all fours. Chuck fell on his back, and found himself facing the drooling maw of the werewolf.

"You don't want to do this, Morgan," Chuck pleaded. He thought he saw a flicker of recognition in the wolf's eyes, before the animal's gaze shifted into something that looked like scorn, and then quickly disappeared.

"Morgan, sit! Heel! Uh, roll over!" The wolf turned from Chuck, and set his red-eyed stare on Devon. The Doctor stepped backwards, reaching into his backpack. "Here, I have some beef jerky. Want some? It's low-fat."

The werewolf seemed to be more interested in Captain Awesome flavored jerky, and slowly moved towards its new-found prey. Then it jerked its head up, pausing as if smelling something. Finally, it burst away into the forest.

Chuck breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, thank God that's over," he heard Devon say.

Chuck shook his head. "No, we have to go after him. It's Morgan, and I need to help him."

"Are you nuts, Bro?" Devon asked. "In case you haven't noticed, your best friend is…man's best friend. I think that may put a damper on your relationship. You're going to want to play videogames, and he's going to want to chase cars. Or eat the mailman."

"It's still Morgan," Chuck responded stubbornly. "And besides, we can't just let him hurt innocent people." He headed into the trees.

"Fine," he heard his brother-in-law say, and a moment later Devon was back by his side.

Chuck quickly realized he had no idea which direction Morgan had headed down. To him, one tree looked exactly like another, leaving landmarks few and far between. Devon seemed to be too busy contemplating becoming Morgan food, and offered little help.

Finally, he noticed a light up ahead, and slowly inched forward to see what was going on. There were two silhouettes in a clearing. Chuck recognized Casey, his shadow holding a torch in one hand, and his odd firearm in the other. The other, decidedly dog-shaped, silhouette was suspended six feet in the air, and clearly unhappy about it. Chuck could hear it growling angrily as it tried to free itself from the net holding it, and he thought he saw blood dripping down to the ground.

"No use struggling," he heard Casey say. "That net's made of unbreakable fibers. I'd tell you what it's made off, but I don't think your little dog brain could handle it."

Devon caught up with Chuck, stepping on a twig as he reached the clearing. Casey turned to look at them. "Well, if it isn't Abbott and Costello. Just in time to see me put this pooch from hell down."

"Casey, you can't. Morgan's your friend."

The Colonel grunted. "Please, I call this a win just for never having to hear about 'Doctor Who' again. The whole werewolf thing is a bonus. Your dog days are over, Grimes." Casey raised the gun, and fired.

"What?" Casey asked as he went over to cut the net down. "After years of having to listen to your mandolin crap, you don't think some of it rubbed off?" The werewolf fell to the ground in a heap. Casey reached into a pocket and retrieved another cigar. "Guess we'll have to clean up this mess now."

"Uh, Casey…"

"What's your problem, Woodcomb?" Seeing the doctor pointing behind him, Casey turned around just in time to see a claw descend on him. "Knew I never should have trusted the Reds to make an honest transaction," he said, just before being knocked to the ground.

The gun skittered away as Casey fell. Chuck moved quickly, grabbing the gun and aiming it at the wolf.

"Do it, Bartowski!"

"Dude, you can't!"

"Chuck?"

The cacophony of voices faded from Chuck's consciousness as the Intersect once again kicked in. This time, Chuck found himself hunched over in a wrestling crouch as the wolf leapt. He managed to put a hand around the beast's jaw, keeping the sharp fangs away from him, and pushed the wolf to the ground. The beast hit its head on the ground, and let out a dazed, and vaguely human, groan.

When the Intersect wore off, Chuck realized that he'd heard three separate human voices just before the werewolf attacked. He looked up to see not only Casey and Devon, but also a decidedly non-canine Morgan staring at him.

"Morgan? You're…" he looked back to make sure that the unconscious wolf was still lying on the ground, before returning his gaze to his friend. "You're not a werewolf?"

"Well, I've always thought of myself as more of a gatherer than a hunter. And I greatly prefer sunlight to moonlight. You actually thought I was a werewolf? Man, that's kind of insulting. Not cool, Chuck."

"Hey, in my defense you've been acting weird all night. Plus, there's that." Chuck pointed to the unconscious wolf. To his surprise, the beast's form began to shift, and morphed into a human, a female human, form.

"Gertrude?" Casey said in surprise, when the transformation had finished.

"Hey there, John." Chuck could see that the female spy was in bad shape. She was bleeding heavily from the bullet wound, her shoulder had a nasty cut, and her face had a slightly green pallor. "You should give Russians more credit. The silver was fine. Your aim was a bit off, though."

A coughing fit interrupted Gertrude before continuing, her voice weak. "I guess you know my secret now. Surprised you never suspected. You know, the way I disappeared for a few days every month."

"I just figured, you know, you being a woman and all…"

Gertrude rolled her eyes, which led to another spasm of coughing. "So you gonna finish the job or what?"

"Casey…" Chuck interjected, but the big man ignored him.

"You're sure about this?"

"It's your job, right? I'm just glad it's you."

"Ok." Casey leaned over and kissed Gertrude on the forehead. "Goodbye, Gertrude."

Chuck looked away before the gun fired.

* * *

The three men stood there quietly for a few minutes, before Devon finally broke the silence. "I don't think I'm ever going camping again."

Without turning his attention away from the body, Casey asked, "You going to stop staring at me, Bartowski? It had to be done." He turned to Devon. "You got any hard stuff in that backpack of yours?"

Devon flipped through the back, before handing Casey a flask of peppermint schnapps. "It's Ellie's," he said apologetically. Clearly his lying technique hadn't improved, Chuck thought to himself.

The older man gave the bottle an unenthusiastic look, said, "It'll have to do," and took a big swig. "Had to be done, I guess. She hogged the covers anyway."

To his right, Chuck thought he heard Morgan make a sound in response. A terrible suspicion dawned on him. He turned to his friend. "Um, Morgan, what are you doing out here anyway?"

"Oh," the bearded man looked away slightly. "Well, you know, I figured it was a beautiful night, and I should get the chance to see nature and…reflect on stuff."

"And so you came out here by yourself, and you wound up losing your clothes, and getting all those scratches on your back?"

"Hold on," Casey seemed to catch on to Chuck's suspicions. He approached the smaller man, his face menacingly close to the other's. "You weren't out here alone, were you?"

"Don't be silly, Casey. Of course I was."

"No, you weren't. And I know Alex is with her mother. Which means…" One burly arm grabbed Morgan by the Spin Doctors t-shirt, and pushed him against a tree trunk. "You were here with Gertrude, weren't you?"

"Gertrude? What a crazy…Ok, ok!" Morgan relented when Casey's large hand encircled his neck. "I didn't mean for it to happen! I mean we were working together when I was the Intersect and we got to know each other eventually, and with the close quarters and stuff, one thing led to another."

Casey dropped Morgan to the ground. "Hey, I'm sorry, ok! I really am! Whew," he sighed as he got to his feet and dusted himself off. "Thanks for understanding."

"Oh I understand all right," Casey replied, removing the gun from its holster.

"Wait, Casey!" Morgan backed away. "It's ok. She never bit me or anything, so I'm not a werewolf! A silver bullet won't work on me."

"Oh, trust me. It's sharp and it moves real fast. It'll get the job done just fine."

"Casey!" Chuck finally interrupted. "Don't you think we should worry about cleaning things up? You know, the…" he nodded in the direction of Gertrude's body.

Casey grunted. "Probably best. And I'll have to fill out some paperwork with the Werewolf Registration Association as well." He looked back at Morgan. "Shooting you will have to wait. For now."

Morgan let out a high-pitched whine. Devon had been right, Chuck realized. Morgan probably was more of a terrier than a wolf.

* * *

It was two hours later when Chuck and Devon, with Morgan along for his own protection, returned home. When he let himself in, he found Sarah and Ellie standing in the foyer. The two women barely seemed to notice the men's unkempt appearance or Morgan's ill-fitting clothes.

"Sorry we're home so late," Chuck said after kissing his wife. "Male bonding went a bit longer than expected." He wrinkled his nose slightly. "Is that garlic? You guys go out for Italian food?"

"Oh, you know," Sarah answered quickly. "Love that pasta!"

"And jewelry shopping too," Devon said to his wife. "Is that a new crucifix, Babe?"

"And…woodworking?" Chuck asked, noticing the wooden stakes on the floor.

"What can I say, Chuck?" Sarah responded. "Crazy girls night out."

"Well, ok." Chuck was too tired to question any further. "I hope you don't mind if Morgan stays here tonight, do you? It's really late."

"Of course not. The night can be…unsafe."

"Great."

"Well, I think I'm going to turn in," Devon said. "So what's on tap for tomorrow, guys?"

"Well, I heard Jeffster's back in town," Chuck suggested. "They just got back from the Eastern European leg of their tour."

"Oh, I think that show's been cancelled. They're…not feeling well."

Chuck shrugged. "Well, we can figure it out tomorrow. I'm headed off to bed. Coming, honey?"

As they ascended the stairs, Sarah took her husband's arm. "You know, Chuck, I've been thinking."

"Hmmm…"

"I think I know just what this place needs. We should get a dog."

* * *

_Ok, you can breathe now. It was just a story. I'll give you a moment._

_Look for Part 2 in the next couple of days. I promise more scares, more thrills, and a few random cameos._


	3. In Her Space

**In Her Space**

"It's just not getting any better."

Chuck put his elbows down on the Castle conference room table, as one pair of sympathetic eyes, and one pair of half-sympathetic, half-bored eyes, watched. Morgan, the owner of the sympathetic set, was seated at one end of the table guzzling coffee while John Casey cleaned his gun at the other end.

"Isn't there anything else you can try?" Morgan asked. "Maybe try the flash cards again?"

"It's useless," Chuck said dejectedly. "Sarah's memory is never coming back."

"Actually, I may have a solution."

Everyone turned around in surprise to see General Beckman standing at the entrance to the room. Chuck and Casey jumped up and saluted, their years of training kicking back in. Morgan remained seated at the table, but moved his coffee cup around in an approximate wave.

"General! It's good to see you!" After a pause, Chuck asked, "and, um, how did you get in here?"

"I'm a US General, Mr. Bartowski. Do you really think a locked door could stop me?"

"Is that why you're carrying a sandwich," Morgan pointed to the wrapped bundle in the General's hand, "when the store upstairs hasn't even opened yet?"

General Beckman shrugged. "You should tell them they're out of black olives. In any event," the General said as she sat at the table, "I think I may have a solution to this particular problem." She reached over to one of the laptops on the table, clicked a few keys, and the conference room viewing screen flickered to life.

"Gentlemen," the General said, though Chuck wasn't sure if she was addressing them, or the three men that had appeared on the screen. "In the interest of fully understanding any and all glitches that could appear in future Intersect technology, we've convened a committee of experts in a wide variety of scientific fields. It's taken months, but we believe we have a potential solution to the recent problems observed in the malfunctioning versions of the technology."

She motioned to the screen. "I'd like to introduce you to three members of this panel." She pointed at the first man. "This is Professor John Frink."

"Flavin."

"To his left is Doctor Walter Bishop."

The second man, busily scarfing down a bag of Twizzlers, didn't look up.

"And finally, Agent Marshall Flinkman."

Chuck's eyes narrowed when he saw the third man. "You seem familiar. You wouldn't happen to be an ex-gymnast, would you?"

Agent Flinkman betrayed no surprise at the question. "Gymnast? Oh no. I mean, the things those guys do? The way they balance themselves on those rings? I'd be like this." The doctor held his arms out to his sides, wiggling them awkwardly. "They're tough, with all that arm strength. I'd bet that's where the word 'army' came from, because everyone is so strong. Makes a lot more sense than infantry, because who'd want a team of babies guarding your country. Although Mitchell, that's my son, he could drive away the toughest soldier when he was teething. There was this one time…"

"Perhaps we could get back to the topic at hand," the General finally interrupted. "We have what we believe is the approach most likely to yield positive results for Agent Walker." She looked down for a moment, "Although it's a little bit unorthodox. Perhaps I should let them explain."

Professor Frink held up what appeared to be a long tube designed to ship posters in the mail, with several knobs and levers attached at one end. "What we have here is what I like to call a shrink ray, m-hey. This beauty will shrink you down to subatomic size, so that you can proceed into the mind of the patient and vaporize the blockade the Intersect put up."

"I'm sorry. You want to shrink us and zap us into Sarah's brain?" Chuck asked incredulously.

"Well of course we want to shrink you, dear boy," the Doctor replied. "If you don't you'll just give the patient a huge headache, with the throbbing and the pounding and the freight train running…"

Chuck turned to Beckman. "Please tell me this isn't for real."

"Um, maybe Doctor Bishop can explain things better."

The oldest of the three men on the screen nodded. "Of course Dana. But first, were you able to find the album?"

The General sighed. "No, Doctor."

"Ah well. My presentation would work a lot better accompanied by Side 1 of "Larks' Tongues in Aspic" by King Crimson." Doctor Bishop sighed, but then plunged ahead. "The human brain is a wonderfully complex organism, and we have only just started to explore its depths. So what better way to learn more than to dive it in, as it were."

"Once inside, I postulate that whatever blockade is preventing Miss Walker's memories from returning will be somewhere between the hippocampus and the prefrontal cortex. Once that's removed, the procedure is complete. Other than getting out of there before you return to full size and cause her head to explode like a watermelon being dropped from a skyscraper, of course. "

"But we wouldn't even know what to look for," Chuck objected.

"Well, based on our research, we think you should be looking for something like this."

Flinkman moved aside, and Chuck could see an old monitor behind him, with a crudely drawn square bouncing back and forth on it. "Is that Breakout?" he asked incredulously.

"It's only a rough rendering," the other man explained. "And it gave me an excuse to dig up my old 2600."

"Are these three really the best the CIA can come up with now?" Casey growled to the General.

"Well, budgets are tight," Beckman replied.

Casey grumbled something under his breath. Chuck could make out the word 'Obamacare' surrounded by a plethora of four-letter words. "You can't really be considering this," the older man said more audibly.

Clearly the plan was ridiculous, one that no sane person could ever consider. Still, months of having a wife that could barely recognize him had been driving him crazy, so he supposed it made sense in a warped sort of way.

"I guess it couldn't hurt."

* * *

"Are you sure the Nerd Herder is a good idea?"

They were standing in a large laboratory, a week after the initial meeting with the three mysterious scientists. All three of them had just arrived, and were standing around, clearly more excited about what was going to happen than anyone more intimately involved with the situation. Sarah had been reluctant, of course, even though Chuck had carefully left out pretty much every single detail regarding the process. He'd finally convinced her by emphasizing how difficult the past few months had been for him as well as for her. It had been somewhat manipulative, Chuck admitted to himself. Sarah may not have any memories, but she did have a healthy sense of guilt.

"You're going to need to move quickly once you are inside, mm-hey," Professor Frink replied. "You can't just wander around the brain aimlessly. And your automobile is conveniently compact – with the minimal trunk space, and the cramped leg room and the missing air bags."

Doctor Bishop was staring at his colleague. "Are you aware that you're a cartoon?" he asked. Then turning back to Chuck and the others. "We should get started as soon as possible. Miss Walker is asleep now, but the sedative won't last long. Just have a seat in the car, and we'll fire up the shrink ray."

"Shotgun!" Chuck heard Morgan yell.

"Seriously, Dude? We're about to embark on an insane experimental rescue mission, and you're worried about where you're sitting?"

Morgan shrugged. "I always call shotgun."

Once they had piled into the car, and Casey had finished his litany of complaints over the cramped backset, Chuck turned on the monitor that had been added to the dashboard. "Ok, we're just about ready," Doctor Bishop said. "Strap yourselves in and we'll commence the shrinking process."

"Um, Doctor," Chuck asked. "You guys did do some trial runs on this, right?"

"Of course," Bishop replied, clearly offended. "We ran several levels of trials."

"Human trials?" Morgan asked.

"Well, sort of. We first injected monkeys into the brain of another monkey, then we injected monkeys into the brain of a mouse, mice into the brain of a monkey, then mice and monkeys into the brain of a dog. All results were promising. We did then inject monkeys into the brain of one of our research associates, but that didn't go as well. But we think we've worked out all of the quirks. Ah, here goes the shrink ray."

Chuck watched in amazement as the table standing next to the Nerd Herder began to grow in size. He craned his neck out the window to see the now giant scientists look down at him. Even the General seemed huge.

"And now," Doctor Bishop rumbled. Chuck had to roll the window back up to make the giant Doctor's voice slightly less deafening. "We will insert you into the hypodermic needle, and inject you into Miss Walker. The nasal cavity should be the quickest route to the brain."

Chuck tried not to think about that.

"Oh, one other thing," Doctor Bishop interrupted Chuck's examination of his wife's humungous nasal hairs, "in order to aid you in visualizing the blockade that you need to find, I laced the water each of you drank with a trace amount of LSD."

The alarm that Chuck felt only lasted a moment. "I didn't drink any water."

"Me neither," Morgan added. "Casey?"

There was a momentary silence, followed by, "Oh crap. Not again."

* * *

"This is amazing," Morgan said, his wide eyes reflected in the side windshield. "I've always wondered what it's like to be inside your wife." Seeing the way Chuck looked at him, he stammered, "I mean that in the nicest, least gross way. Not that Sarah isn't beautiful and stuff, but…Hey, is that a white blood cell?" he pointed out the window evasively.

"We should just focus on finding our way up to Sarah's brain," Chuck said in response. "Everyone keep your eyes open. You too, Casey," Chuck looked in the backseat, to see the Colonel bunched up into a fetal position.

"Ok," Doctor Bishop's face appeared on the screen, "you need to turn left at the next neuron. Then keep going straight for a while. You may want to turn your headlights on."

Hercule Poirot would have been disappointed. The scenery they were passing through was less 'grey matter,' and more of a murky pink. While the view was fascinating, Chuck kept his focus on the road in front of him.

As they continued to drive deeper into Sarah's psyche, their surroundings became darker and darker. Finally, the image of Doctor Bishop on the dashboard faded away, the signal too weak to reach them. "Great, now where do we go?" Chuck grumbled, looking at the intersection expanded around them.

"Nothing here either," Morgan said, staring at his cell phone. "Apparently, Sarah's brain doesn't give much of a signal."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to figure it out ourselves," Chuck said doubtfully.

"Well, thank goodness!"

Chuck and Morgan turned around, but Casey didn't offer any explanation for his relief. Instead, he was giving his undivided attention to the empty seat next to him. "I'm so glad to see you again, Mr. President, and to hear that you're running for a third term."

"I think the drugs may be kicking in," Morgan commented.

"You think?"

"Mr. President – can I call you Ronny? I just want to know one thing. When do we invade Switzerland?" After a second of silence, the big man said, "I know! How can anyone trust a country with that many clocks?"

"I don't think he's going to be much help," Chuck remarked, as he turned his attention back to the mysterious crossroads.

As he sat there, a bolt of light shot overhead and flew past them and off to the right. "What was that?" Morgan asked.

"I don't know. An electrical impulse, I guess."

"You mean she's thinking right now? I thought she was asleep."

"Are you serious, Mr. President? You want me to be your running mate? I'm so honored!" Casey was practically gushing. "But what will George say?"

"She is," Chuck answered Morgan, while struggling to keep his curiosity from taking over, and forcing him to check out what was going on in the back of the car. An idea occurred to him. "But she might be dreaming."

"Dreaming? Hey, maybe she's dreaming about you!"

"If she is, it's possible she remembers things in her dreams that she might not remember when she's awake. So, we should follow that light." Chuck turned the Nerd Herder to the right, and drove after the impulse.

"Also, I have good news for you, Mr. President. I can appeal to the youth vote. I can pop-and-lock, see?"

Despite keeping his attention firmly ahead of him, Chuck still heard the click from the passenger seat. "Morgan!"

"Oh, come on!" the bearded man protested as he put his phone away. "How could I pass up the chance to record that?"

* * *

Chuck continued to pilot the Nerd Herder through Sarah's neural network, following the runaway electric impulse. After a while, he began to drift into a semi-alert state, thinking instead about the amazing surroundings around him. Clearly, Doctor Bishop had been correct about the vast complexity of the human brain. He realized they probably should be recording their voyage for scientific posterity, and considered asking Morgan to retrieve his camera phone.

Chuck's reverie was so deep that he almost didn't notice when the impulse flashed briefly in front of him, and then immediately turned back towards them. He swerved the car off to the side, narrowly avoiding the flashing charge.

"What the hell was that?" Morgan asked.

"I don't know." With the light gone, the pathway ahead was pitch black. Chuck turned the headlights back on and slowly drove forward until they reached an intersection of several different tunnels. "But I think we'd better take a closer look." Chuck stopped the car, fished a flashlight out from under his seat, and stepped outside.

"You'd better wait here, Mr. President," he heard Casey remark. "The motorcade's stopped. Could be something's up. Maybe Commies. Or hippies. You and Chuck sit tight while we have a look."

"Actually, I'm going with you," Chuck said to the big man.

"Not you, Moron. Chuck Heston. You didn't see him back there?"

Chuck decided that it was best not to answer that. He walked over to the middle of chamber, pointing the flashlight at the ground. He recognized the nerve that the transmitted signal they been following had been traveling through. At the middle of the hollow, the nerve intersected several others, combining into a vast tangle of string-like appendages. Chuck was reminded of the mass of tangled-up Christmas lights that had seemed to await them every December 1 when he was a kid.

"I think this might be the problem," Morgan pointed out as he stared down at the tangle.

Casey grunted. "Brilliant, Moron." The Colonel seemed to be getting more lucid, Chuck thought to himself. "Now why don't you and Bartowski grab one end, while I grab the other." He moved to climb over to the other end of the pile, but then paused. "Or I will as soon as Foghorn Leghorn and Count Chocula finish their conversation over there."

* * *

On more than one occasion, Chuck had been called a bundle of nerves. He'd never considered it to be much of an insult, but then again he'd never seen an actual bundle of nerves before. Now, in retrospect, he was feeling more than a bit offended.

"How much time do we have left?" Morgan asked after what seemed like hours of effort. They'd managed to untangle much of the mess, but the knots were getting tighter now.

"Less than an hour," Chuck replied. He shared Morgan's impatience, but he'd been very careful to pull too roughly on the nerves, as he was afraid of what kind of permanent damage might be done to Sarah. He'd had to tell Morgan to be careful on more than one occasion, and at one point had just managed to stop him from trying to pull two apart with his teeth.

Casey was also becoming less and less help. His political aspirations had been replaced with increasingly frequent bouts of paranoia, and he seemed to spend more time looking over his shoulder than with the job at hand.

Still, their efforts made progress, and the bundle continued to shrink in size. Finally, Chuck managed to tug the last knot free. It took some additional work to figure out which nerves were meant to travel down which of the passages. Fortunately, a soft light was beginning to glow from each strand, making it easier for him to find his way around.

As he was making sure one of the strands was fully straightened, a glint of light from one of the passages caught his eye. He walked inside, and found a large window in one wall. He peered inside, and recognized a younger version of himself, standing at the Nerd Herd desk, talking to a younger version of Sarah.

"I'm not sure I'm able to receive calls, because I never got one from you."

Chuck smiled, remembering that day. He moved on to the next window, and saw himself with Sarah out by the docks, kissing Sarah when they thought a bomb was about to explode. It was another memory that he himself treasured, and he hoped he'd managed to bring it back for his wife.

Not all of the memories were great, and not all involved him. "It's ok," he watched a clearly annoyed Sarah say to Daniel Shaw, "it happens to all guys." She was seated on a hotel room bed watching Shaw weep, a look of disgust on her face.

"Hey Chuck, we've got to get going…whoa," Morgan had descended down the passage before pausing at another one of the windows. "Is that Sarah with Bryce Larkin?"

"Yeah," Chuck sighed unhappily. He'd quickly moved away from that particular memory. Even if it was a happy, and apparently very steamy, memory for Sarah, it wasn't going to be one he himself wanted to hold onto.

"Wow, that guy is acrobatic," Morgan said, staring at the window. "How does he do that?"

"Yoga," Casey replied as he joined Morgan. "Larkin was big on yoga. But what's he doing there with Margaret Thatcher?"

"Ok, guys. We've got to get out of here," Chuck interrupted, glancing at his watch. "We've only got a few minutes left."

"Wait, what about the President?" Casey asked.

"Oh, uh, he left on Air Force One. He said he wanted you to meet him at the White House."

Casey ran back to the car. Chuck followed, after a quick detour to drag a fascinated Morgan away from the memory window.

* * *

"Ten minutes left to go!"

It was a good thing that the human brain doesn't come equipped with red-light cameras, Chuck thought to himself, as he sped the Nerd Herder back through the interlocking caverns of his wife's brain. Fear of what would happen when the shrink ray's effect wore off kept his foot on the pedal, while he kept his eyes firmly glued to the road ahead. It wouldn't do Sarah any favors if he drove off his current path. Who knows what could happen to her – paralysis, blindness, or a lifetime convinced that she's a cockatoo.

Occasionally, he'd hear Casey whimpering in the back seat. Whatever form his LSD-induced hallucinations were now taking, Chuck was glad he wasn't sharing them.

The one good news was that they could see better. Sarah's nervous system was now filled with the flashing lights of memory impulses. Even with the improved vision, he still wasn't sure how to find his way out of the mental maze, and had to occasionally rely on Agent Flinkman's hand-drawn map.

"Where to next?" Chuck shouted at one unfamiliar juncture. "Right or left?"

"Hold on!" Morgan yelled back, folding and unfolding the map. "Right! No wait, left?"

Chuck veered the Herder just in time, avoiding spinning the car out of control.

"Oh my God!" Casey yelled from behind. "We're under attack! The Russians are here!"

"How much time?" Chuck asked, ignoring the Colonel's panic.

"Eight minutes and counting," Morgan answered, followed by "…seven minutes, fifty seconds…seven…"

"You don't need to count down. Just navigate!"

"Ok, left again."

"What's it so hot in here? Oh God, global warming is real!"

"Ok, we're almost there. Just another…Darn, I dropped the map." Chuck heard Morgan unbuckle his seat belt and reach down to the passenger seat floor.

Chuck had taken his eyes off the road for only a second when a stray impulse hit the front of the Nerd Herder. The tire blew out, causing the car to careen out of control. Chuck was struggling to regain control when a light caught the corner of his eye. It wasn't the flashing of an impulse, but a solid light. Their way out.

Struggling to keep the car in control, Chuck turned with the skid, and managed to send the Herder towards the light. A moment later, the car landed on the soft landscape of the conveniently-placed pillow.

"The Russians are here! And they're giants! I knew Chernobyl was just a cover!" Chuck looked at where Casey pointing. A giant hand was moving the pillow bringing it down to the ground.

A moment later, Chuck felt a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he began to expand to his usual lanky size. He stepped out of the car and fell on his feet, struggling to regain his equilibrium. Next to him, a wild-eyed Casey was staring at his surroundings, ready to jump at the slightest movement.

"Mission accomplished!" a delighted Agent Flinkman said as he clapped Chuck on the back. "Now we bring Agent Walker back to consciousness and see if it worked. "You found the problem?"

"I think so," Chuck replied as he hurried over to his wife. Doctor Bishop was giving her an injection, and a second later her eyes began to flutter. "Chuck?"

"How are you feeling?" Chuck sighed in relief. He leaned over and kissed her on the lips.

"Whoa, Dude!" Sarah jumped back. "What are you doing, Man?"

"I was worried, and happy to see you're ok," Chuck answered, looking puzzled.

"Dude, I know we've always said we're hetero lifemates and all, and there was that one big Valentine's day card misunderstanding in the fifth grade, but I've got to tell you, I'm really not…"

"Morgan?" Chuck glanced around the laboratory. Casey was currently trying to hug the wall, while Doctors Frink and Bishop were watching. Agent Flinkman was off in one corner talking to General Beckman. But sure enough, there was no sign of his bearded friend.

"Morgan?" Chuck asked, his voice quivering, "are you in there?"

"In where? Hold on," Sarah looked down at her arms, then rubbed her very beardless face. She was about to open the front of her nightgown to investigate further before Chuck yelled, "Stop!"

"Oh man, Chuck. I don't know how this happened. I remember reaching down for the map, and then there was some skidding….I must have fallen out of the car."

"This is incredible," Doctor Bishop said, approaching the two CIA Agents. "He has completely melded with Agent Walker's mind. It's a medical breakthrough."

"It's a disaster!" Chuck said.

"Hold on, this could be a blessing in disguise," Agent Flinkman commented. "My wife hates when I have a night out with the guys. Ok, by guys I mean sitting on the couch playing Halo, but still, this could be the best of both worlds. A beautiful woman who loves to do all of the things you do? Think about it Chuck."

Chuck didn't need to, even before let out a not-very-feminine belch. "No way. I want him out." An even more frightening realization hit him. "And how soon until he regains regular size?"

"Ninety seconds and counting, my good man," Professor Frink answered. "Then we should all stand back, because it'll be brains away, with the cerebellum flying and the cortex squishing and the…"

"Get him out!"

"Hold on." Doctor Bishop reached into his pocket, and retrieved a small feather.

"You carry a feather around with you?"

"Don't you?" He reached over and placed the feather on Sarah/Morgan's nose. A few moments of watering eyes and nose twitches were quickly followed by a very loud "Achoo!"

A few seconds later, a drenched uncomfortable-looking Morgan was returning to his full size on the floor.

"Sometimes the simplest solution is always the best," Doctor Bishop beamed. "Occam's feather."

Casey stepped away from the wall, and quietly shifted his gaze between the confused Sarah and the miserable Morgan. "Wow. That is some strong LSD."

* * *

"So you remember everything?"

Sarah nodded, her head encircled in the comfort of a Casa Bartowski pillow. A full day-and-a-half had passed since the unorthodox medical procedure, and she had spent most of it sleeping. Chuck had spent most of it watching over her like a hawk, a litany of rational and irrational fears flying through his head.

Chuck wanted proof. "What was the name of the LA neighborhood we went undercover on to infiltrate a Fulcrum cell?"

"Meadow Branch."

"What was our room number on the train we took after Paris?"

Sarah smiled. "Oh, that train. 30B."

"What was my favorite yogurt flavor at the Orange Orange?"

Sarah made a face. "Lemon, for some reason."

"What's Lester's wife's name?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Are you trying to trick me?"

"Just making sure." Chuck beamed, and embraced his wife. "It's back! Your memory's really back!"

"Yeah." Sara's voice sounded uncertain.

"Is something wrong?"

"Well, some of the memories that are back, I remember having them and I remember remembering them. But then others I don't."

Chuck looked uncertain as Sarah continued. "Well, for some reason I remember a lot of nights that you and I spent playing 'Call of Duty' together, but I also remember thinking they were really silly and juvenile."

"And I remember you telling me that, in those exact words."

"I also remember the plot of an awful lot of episodes of 'The X-Files', but I could have sworn I'd never seen that show."

Suspicion was growing within Chuck. Something didn't quite go right the other day.

"I also remember you going out with Kimmy Gunderson and then not calling her in the 11th grade." Sarah gave her husband an accusatory look. "But I have no idea who that is." Chuck definitely understood now. Some of Sarah's regained memories weren't her own.

"I also have a vague memory of peeking in on your sister when she was in the shower."

"I'm going to kill Morgan," Chuck muttered.

"What's that?"

"Oh nothing. I mean, I'm sure it's nothing."

"It's a rather strange side effect of whatever procedure I had. You sure you can't give me some more details about it?"

"N-no. It was very complicated. But I can tell you it was developed by three of the CIA's finest scientific minds. The important thing is you know who you are, and you have all of your real memories."

Sarah nodded. "You're right, Chuck."

"Well then, now that we agree on that, how about we celebrate." Chuck leaned in to kiss Sarah.

"Clyde Bruckman!"

"Huh?" Chuck's head snapped back.

"The guy in that episode of the 'X-Files' who could see the future? I've been trying to remember his name for hours!" Sarah's look grew thoughtful. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have that on DVD, would you?"

"Uh, well…"

"Ooh, maybe we could do a marathon! You know, we could knock off the first season in a couple of nights. You should call Morgan and invite him over."

"Well, I was kind of thinking it would be just us…"

"Oh come on, I know you love that show. I'm not sure how I know, but I remember that you watched it all the time in high school."

"Well, that was because sex wasn't a legitimate option…"

"We should get started now." Sarah gave Chuck's ankle a slap. "Maybe order a pizza. It could be a long night. We could even take a break at some point and talk more about Kimmy Gunderson."

"Ok, you call. I'll be right there."

When Sarah left the bedroom, Chuck reached for his phone and dialed a number. "Hello, Doctor Bishop? It's Chuck Bartowski. Say, do you have another one of those shrink rays?"

* * *

_Ooh, scary. And I don't just mean the gross scientific inaccuracies. I think that if Ellie Bartowski Woodcomb were ever to read that, she'd have quite a few comments..._

_The final story in this year's Triumvirate of Terror will be up in the next few days, in time for Halloween. In the mean time, please let me know what you think. Comments? Concerns? Synopses of nightmares induced by these horrific tales?_


	4. Bruce Willis, Eat Your Heart Out

**Bruce Willis, Eat Your Heart Out**

Chuck Bartowski cut through the mutter of conversation with a not-too-subtle clearing of his throat. "I'd just like to thank everyone for coming for our first-ever dinner party here at Casa Bartowski."

"I thought we agreed that we'd call the house something a little less cheesy, Dear," Sarah said from the seat next to him.

Chuck smiled. "I'm just glad we finally got our dream house, so I'm happy to call it whatever you'd like."

"Our Dream House works for me."

"Alright, everyone. Thank you all for coming for our first-ever dinner party hear at Our Dream House."

There was a smattering of "Hear, hears" and "Cheers" plus the clinking of crystal as Sarah, Morgan, Alex, and Casey responded to the toast.

"Hey, do you guys ever wonder how this place managed to stay on the market for so long?" Morgan asked after taking a sip of the wine. "I mean, it is a buyer's market and all."

Chuck shrugged. "I suppose the fact that it managed to get trashed a few times didn't help," he replied, noticing his wife look down, her face slightly red with guilt. "But why worry about it? The important thing is it's ours."

"Actually, the important thing is that you're out of wine," Casey interrupted, waving the empty bottle meaningfully.

"No problem," Sarah said, scooting her chair out. "I'll check the wine cellar."

"You have a wine cellar?" Alex asked. "I missed that on our tour."

"Well, it's really just the basement, where we keep all of Chuck's old stuff."

"I like to think of it as a museum."

Sarah smiled at her husband fondly. "But between all of his old toys and posters, we do keep a couple of extra bottles for an emergency." Sarah headed away to fetch the wine.

"I think I'll go freshen up," Alex said, and left the table as well.

"So, what do menfolk talk about when the women leave?" Chuck asked when Alex had disappeared. "Sports? The Stock Market? Auto parts?"

"There's a new Assassin's Creed out," Morgan suggested.

Casey grunted. "I think I'll smoke myself a cigar. Outside," he added.

"Well, I guess it's just you and me, Morgan," Chuck said after Casey had left. "So, tell me about that game."

"Sure. There's a trailer on my iPad. I'll just go get it and be right back."

"Thank goodness this isn't a horror movie," Chuck said to himself as he sat at the empty table, drinking the last of his wine.

* * *

"Jeez, Chuck. I know you like the name and all, but 'Three Buck Chuck' is hardly what you want to stock a wine cellar with." Sarah sorted through the bottles on the basement shelf, trying to find something suitable for the occasion. The basement wasn't fully finished, and the impressive supply of dust was one of the main reasons she hadn't included it in the grand tour. Still, she thought they had another bottle of Pinot down there somewhere.

"Perhaps I can suggest this," a voice came from behind.

Sarah whirled around, habitually searching for the knives she'd left off of her dinner party ensemble. "You!" she said as she recognized the figure standing there.

* * *

"C'mon, where did I save it?" Morgan asked himself as he flipped through his tablet, trying to find the missing trailer. He fidgeted in impatience, shifting around on the upstairs step he was seated on. "I know it's here somewhere."

"Maybe you can't find it because I deleted it." The words came from above. Morgan craned his neck, and his jaw dropped in surprise.

* * *

Casey watched the puff of cigar smoke disappear into the sky. He wasn't much for dinner parties, and finding a moment for solitude was always a relief. Just him, the night air, a cigar, and no tedious chitchat. There was nothing better.

So, his shoulders immediately slumped when he heard a voice behind him. "Got one of those for me?"

* * *

"I see dead…" Morgan stuttered.

"Oh for God's sake, don't say that. You have any idea how old that line is?" The ghostly figure slowly descended the stairs, and Morgan pulled back his iPad, as if preparing to use it as a weapon.

The ghost stopped, and leaned over to examine the tablet. "Technology sure has changed since I left the mortal coil. I would have loved to have sold those."

"You weren't that great a salesman," Morgan replied, finding a small bit of courage, "if I remember correctly."

"But I was a hell of a manager," Emmitt Milbarge replied.

Not entirely sure that his eyeballs wouldn't be sucked out of his head if he disagreed, Morgan decided to remain quiet.

* * *

"What are you going to do to me, Agent Walker?" the ghost asked Sarah. "I'm already dead. All you're going to accomplish is destroy the one decent bottle of wine you've got down here."

"If you're dead, Mauser," Sarah asked, "how are you here talking to me?"

"You live with a geek and you don't understand how ghosts work?" Mauser asked incredulously. "I'd have thought something would have rubbed off on you."

Sarah backed away again, but said nothing.

"You see, sometimes when someone dies, things are left unfinished, unresolved. We move around as much as we can, but we are tethered to certain places, places that function as portals to the other side. This house, as luck would have it, is one of those places.

"That explains the low asking price," Sarah muttered.

"Seriously, you two should have done more research. Haven't you seen the Haunted House tours driving by every day?"

* * *

"So, Agent Forrest," Casey asked. "What brings you by? I can't imagine you were invited to this shin-dig."

"Thank God, no," the NSA Agent scoffed. "I can only imagine what kind of inane conversation must be going on in there. No, I just happened to be in the neighborhood."

Casey grunted in skepticism, but he handed the female agent one of his cigars and lit it for her. "So how've you been?"

"Nice of you to show an interest after all these years, John. Well, where should I start. I got transferred, spent a few months undercover in Chechnya, moved onto Somalia, got killed in a building explosion, came back here, took up Sudoku…"

"Hold on a second. What do you mean, you died?"

Forrest shrugged. "These things happen."

* * *

"So, uh, Emmitt. What can I…do for you?"

"Well, for one thing," Ghost Emmett said as he pulled up a chair and sat down. "You can tell me how my murder investigation is going."

"Wait, you were murdered?"

"You mean you didn't even know I was murdered? C'mon! It was a big deal! There was dramatic indie rock and everything playing in the background!"

"Sorry. I knew you had died, but somehow never heard the details."

"I'm sure asking about it just happened to slip your mind," Emmitt said bitterly. "Seriously, Man. I was a beloved co-worker – ok, I was a co-worker. And you know what co-workers do? They care when one of them gets murdered. If that's not in the Buy More employee manual, it should be."

As his ghostly co-worker descended the stairs, Morgan got to his feet and backed away, unsure of whether Emmitt would walk right through him and not being particularly anxious to find out. As he moved, he knocked a vase off of a nearby table, sending it crashing to the floor.

"You're going to clean that up, right?" Emmitt asked.

* * *

At the sound of the crash from the floor below, Alex looked up momentarily. She had taken a brief detour into the master bedroom to get another glimpse of the décor, and had then paused to comb her hair. It was clear from the room that Sarah had slowly winnowed Chuck away from his previous Star Wars theme. She'd have to get some pointers about how to do the same with Morgan.

A quiet sound took Alex's attention away from her examination of the window setting. She glanced back to see a dark figure slowly entering the room. She blinked to make sure she wasn't hallucinating, and was surprised to see that her original vision had been correct. There was someone in the room with her.

Someone dressed entirely in black latex.

"Uh, Morgan," she asked, "have you been on Craigslist again?"

* * *

"So these unfinished things you need to do," Sarah asked, "what are they?"

Mauser waved away the question. "Please, I took care of all of that ages ago. It wasn't much, actually. Fill out some paperwork, give heart attacks to a couple of guys who owe me money, watch the last two seasons of '24.' It didn't take long."

"Then why are you here?"

"Hey, I never said it was _my_ unfinished business. My issues may be resolved, but yours certainly aren't."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sarah demanded.

"Well, if I remember correctly right before you shot me, we were discussing what kind of a person you were. I guess it turns out that you _are_ the type of person to shoot someone in cold blood. My bad." Mauser fiddled with the wine bottle until the cork finally popped out. He took a sizeable gulp, and then said, "But if my dying memories are correct, that husband of yours saw the whole thing. Bet that led to a whole lot of complications. But I guess that would have been a sucker bet, because apparently it didn't."

"Here we are, four years later, and what happened? It's almost as if it never happened. The whole thing's been swept under the rug. No one tried for the murder, no one brought to justice. But I bet it's eating inside you, the knowledge of what you've done, of what your husband must think of you. So sad."

* * *

"So if you're dead, Agent Forrest," Casey asked, "what exactly are you doing here?"

"Actually," the formerly-alive NSA agent responded, "I'm kind of here to ask you that exact question. What are you doing here?"

Casey's eyes narrowed. "What exactly do you mean?"

"When I was first assigned to do the 41-B, I was so damned excited. Not because of the assignment itself, obviously," Forrest made a face, "but because it was the chance to work with you, the legendary Major John Casey. The man they'd spend hours telling stories about in training. The man who'd brought so much fear to so many black hearts that there is a "shoot on sight" memorandum for him in 17 different countries."

"18," Casey responded, puffing on his cigar. "South Sudan's a country now."

"My point exactly. You, John Casey, have made a lot of evil men pee in their evil pants." Forrest paused, watching the cigar smoke float into the air. "But where are you now?" she sniffed. "Look what a few years spent with Ross and Rachel in there have turned you into. Lounging around in sunny Southern California. No killer instinct. Heck, you've even found some slutty Russian to shack up with."

"Actually," Casey responded, "Verbanski and I broke up. Too little in common. I like Mexican food, she likes to eat actual Mexicans."

"Whatever. It's clear you're not the man I met four years ago. Now that guy I remember having some fun with." She leaned in.

Casey could almost feel her hot breath on him, before he realized that there was no breath to feel. Instead, he gave one of his amused grunts. "That's what this is about? Trust me, it never would have happened. For one thing, you're a bit clingy. For another, it would have been weird. Your name's Alex. So's mine, and for that matter so's my daughter's. It wouldn't have been worth the awkwardness."

"Names?" Forrest scoffed. "You're worried about names? What kind of nutjob worries about names?"

* * *

"And then there's the whole name thing," Mauser added. "A few years ago, it was this big secret." He waved his arms in mock exaggeration. " It took you two years to admit that your first name was Samantha. And after all of that, then what? It's like you've completely given up your own identify for that tool up there."

Sarah wordlessly waited for the ghostly Fulcrum agent to finish. When she was sure he was done talking, she grabbed the bottle from him, and was about to take a drink before pausing to wipe the mouth.

"Oh come on!" Mauser objected. "I'm dead. And so are my germs."

Sarah shrugged, and took a drink. "So, are you done?" she asked when she had finished. When he nodded, she added, "Ok, then."

"As far as my name goes, it's just not that big a deal. Of course, I've had to change my name for a few missions, but I never really strayed that far from the truth. My first name actually _is_ Sarah."

"But Shaw…"

"So I lied to him. He kept bugging me about it, so I figured I needed to get him off my back. And I hardly think sharing to the world that my last name is Jones really would be the dramatic moment you seem to think you're entitled to."

"Your last name is Jones?" Mauser asked. "Man, that _is_ kind of a letdown."

"And as for you. Yes, I killed you, and I guess you really don't have much going for you in your, um, life right now, but you should really get over it. I did. I mean, sure, I know Chuck struggled with it at first, and to be honest, so did I. I left flowers by your grave a few times those first few months."

"Ooh, carnations. Do you really think that would make me feel better?"

"Well, I would have left a bottle of cheap whiskey and a few back issues of Playboy, but there were kids in that graveyard. And you're dead, so I had no idea you were so needy."

"But eventually I realized that if I hadn't killed you, you would have either gotten free and ruined a good man's life, or more likely, your pals in Fulcrum would have done what they usually do with loose ends. I did come clean with the CIA eventually, and they supported my decision. There's no official record of it, of course, mainly because there was no interest in investigating the death in the first place."

"Chuck didn't understand it all at first, as I'm sure you know. And we had to work on our professional, and our personal, relationships for quite a while to get past it. But given the lengths he's gone to to keep me safe on occasion, I think he does understand it now. And we're the better for it."

Sarah took another drink. "So, yes, I'm a bit sorry for what it did to me at the time. For what it did to you, not as much. So are we finished here?"

* * *

"So what exactly is it that you want, Emmitt?" Morgan asked after he'd cleaned up the remnants of the Bartowski heirloom he'd just knocked over.

Emmitt shuffled his feet for a moment, looking down at the ground. "Well, actually," he finally said, "I need a reference."

"A reference? You need a recommendation to get into heaven? Cause I don't think I can do that for you."

"No, not heaven, at least not exactly the way you think of it. No, it's for a job." Seeing the confusion on Morgan's face, Emmitt explained. "The afterlife isn't just for people, you know. There are a lot of opportunities out there for a guy like me. Oh, I've had a few interviews – Howard Johnson's, Tower Records, even a Linens n' Things. When those didn't pan out, I realized I needed a good word from someone who remembers my work when I was alive. And since the last recorded manager at the Buy More is you – which might explain why it's gone – I figured you'd be the man to see."

Morgan was thoroughly confused. "You want me to write a letter of recommendation?"

"Of course not. No, all I need you to do is just think about how good a manager I was. Just, you know, take a few minutes to just remember my hard work, and the message will come through. Just be sure you do it in a place that is naturally close to the other side – you know, a church or a casino or a Home Depot.."

"That's all I've got to do, and then you'll quit haunting me?"

"That's all. Just be quick about it. I have an interview coming up at a Border's. It would be perfect for me, only one astral plane away so the commute from here wouldn't be bad."

* * *

"You were very good at your job, Agent Forrest," Casey said to the NSA Agent, "not as good as Agent Walker maybe, but good. And your sacrifice for your country is one that will always be remembered."

"But as far as my life is concerned, I don't have to explain or justify anything to you, regardless of what you think we may have had. Whether my life has changed in some ways or not, that's my business, not yours. So if you've come back to haunt me, or possess me, throw green goo all over me or whatever it is you ghosts do, it's not going to make a damn bit of difference."

Agent Forrest looked at Casey for a bit, before a small smile twitched at the side of her lips. "That's the John Casey I remember. Don't ever lose that." With a puff of smoke, she vanished, leaving only the glowing embers of the cigar behind.

Casey calmly regarded the burning ashes, before stepping on them, putting them out with a large foot. "Careless," he said, "no wonder she got herself killed."

* * *

Chuck was seated at the table, wiping non-existing crumbs off the table, when Sarah, Casey and Morgan returned. Noticing that their expressions were slightly troubled, mildly bemused, and borderline freaked out, respectively, he sighed in resignation.

"So I guess you found out about the ghosts, huh?"

"You knew?" Sarah said incredulously.

"Well, you know me, Sarah. I'm thorough. I did my research before making the down payment."

"And you still bought it?"

Chuck shrugged. "It was your dream house. Not a lot of other houses like this one were available. Well, there was one other that was located over top an Indian burial ground, but I wasn't about to move there. I like to watch TV, but I'd just as soon not get sucked into one."

"Besides, they're mostly harmless, when you get used to them. I mean you guys are ok, right?"

"Well," Morgan interjected, "one of them did break your vase."

"I'm not sure I'm ok with this," Sarah commented. "Knowing that they may be watching us, even in our most private moments."

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "I hadn't thought of that. But I can't imagine there's any need to worry about it. I'm sure the dead have moved well past that kind of thing."

At that moment, Alex walked back into the dining room. Her hair was slightly tousled, and there was a vague pink glow on her cheeks. The satisfied smirk on her face, however, disappeared when she saw Morgan seated at the table. "How did you…"

"Everything ok, Honey?" Morgan asked.

"Um, yeah, I think so." She turned to Sarah. "I don't suppose you found that wine, do you? I suddenly feel like I need a drink."

"Oh, sorry. I'm afraid we're out."

"Not even that one bottle I got in France last year?" Chuck asked. "I thought we still had that."

"I'm sorry Chuck. I didn't see it anywhere."

"That's strange. I wonder where it could have gone."

* * *

"Wow, this is some good stuff."

Lester grudgingly handed the bottle to Jeff, who took a Jeff-sized swig of the wine. "Hmm, I sense an aftertaste of peppermint and…boysenberries."

"Oh quit being pretentious and hand back that bottle, Jeffrey. A little time outside the country and you go all snobby on me." After another gulp, Lester said, "But this stuff does pack a wallop. I can't even remember how we got here."

Jeff stood up from the dusty box he'd been sitting on. "Me neither. And where is here anyway?"

"Last thing I remember, we were making out with those hot Romanian chicks." Lester snickered. "That one sure knew how to give a hickey. But after that?"

"Yeah, I can't remember anything either. But we must have come back to the US, because I have a vague memory of Chuck's wife and sister. I think we had steak together."

"That doesn't sound right." Lester sighed, and put the bottle down. "I'm going to see what's in this door." He opened the door, finding a stairway leading upward. "Be right back."

A moment later he did in fact reappear, through another door at the opposite end of the cellar. "Whoa," Jeff reacted, "how'd you move so fast?"

"I didn't. I opened the door at the end of the stairway, and wound up back here." Jeff and Lester looked at each other for a moment. "You don't think…"

"That we're actually dead, and cursed to spend eternity in this basement?"

"Exactly." Lester found another box to sit on. "Man this sucks. I don't even remember how we died!"

"Maybe it was a plane crash." Jeff grinned. "Maybe I'm like Buddy Holly!"

"No way, Jeffrey. I'm Buddy Holly. You're the Big Bopper."

"Fine," Jeff sighed, and walked around, opening and closing boxes. "Kind of dingy place to spend eternity. Pretty dull…hold on! Is this a limited edition X-Men 32-ounce collectible cup?"

Lester stood up, and opened the box nearest him. "Comic books, Star Wars collectibles, a Sega Genesis? Jeffrey, I think this basement is actually heaven!"

The two of them began jumping up and down, embracing each other in excitement.

"We have everything we could ever want here! A lifetime supply of entertainment, and booze!" Lester and Jeff's eyes both moved toward the bottle they'd been drinking from.

The now empty bottle that they'd been drinking from.

"Nooo!" they both yelled.

"What the Hell is wrong with you two?" A voice came from the corner of the room. Emmitt threw off the blankets he'd been lying under. "If the three of us are supposed to live down here, you are going to have to become better roommates."

"Nooo!"

* * *

Chuck awoke with a start. Seeing his wife still sleeping peacefully beside him, he reached over, took a sip of water from the glass by the bedside table, and returned to the bed.

"Man," he grumbled to himself, "that Realtor really undersold the blood-curdling screams."

**End**

* * *

_Ok, so that one may not have been quite as scary. But I hope everyone enjoyed it, and if the occasional tingle occurred in a spine, so much the better._

_As always, review and let me know what you think!_

_Good night to all, and Happy Halloween! _


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